Authors: Barbara Delinsky
“Not bad.” Her voice had a husky ring to it. Swallowing convulsively, she cleared her throat to erase its seductive note. But Drew’s eyes had fallen to her chest, to the filmy fabric of the nightgown which hid so little from the knowing mind. Before she could protest, he bent to place a light kiss on the hollow at the base of her throat, hesitated for a moment, then lifted his head.
“I’m sorry. I just couldn’t resist that.” When he showered her with the sweet smile that had now appeared, it was she who could resist nothing.
“That’s all right,” she whispered in breathy forgiveness, all the while aching to indulge in the pleasure of letting her fingertips play in the soft gold carpet that covered his chest. Though only responding to his natural lure, her own invitation was too much for Drew. Slowly he lowered his lips to taste hers, allowing her hands to satisfy that urge by spreading lightly on the warm skin, sampling the fine-textured surface before climbing to his neck to hold his head closer to her. It was a pattern she could quickly come to know, this mind-blowing masculinity that threw all reason to the winds. Tearing his lips from hers, his hand from its sensual caress of her hip, he straightened.
“I’ll take the bathroom first. Don’t worry, I won’t use the hot water.” Laughing both at himself and the dire need for a coolant of some sort, he left the room. Staring after the figure clad in nothing but a pair of old faded blue jeans, she had to marvel. His magnificent physique was one thing, his remarkable self-restraint another. The tingling that remained to tease her lower parts was unmistakable; perhaps she should have given in after all. At some point the fear was bound to fall prey to her desire which, thwarted moments before, now tormented her. What would she do then?
“Daran! You’ve got twenty minutes!” The deep and flowing growl pushed all other thoughts from mind and she concentrated on dressing for the day. When she emerged from her room ten minutes later, then the bathroom ten minutes after that, she was dressed simply, her full skirt and slim-sleeved blouse, the former in dark brown, the latter in a soft cream color, complementing the busy look that her loose waves, long lashes, pink lips, and freckles comprised. That the flush on her cheeks was authentic, no one had to know but Daran herself.
A fresh and dapper Drew greeted her at the front door, having just returned from replacing his suitcase in the trunk of his car. “All set?” The admiration in his gaze answered his own question. As they left her house, Daran had to admit that he looked stunning. Dressed in a dark suit and light shirt, both miraculously well-pressed—she was later to understand that, as a visiting dignitary, he had been wined and dined and laundered as well—considering the length of his trip, the senator carved a dignified image wherever he went.
The silver Cimarron wound its way smoothly through increasingly rural roads in a direction, to Daran’s surprise, away from the city. The silence within was both companionable and pleasant, in sharp contrast to the day that both were sure to have later. When they pulled up before a rustic cabin of sorts by the shore of a small lake, she snapped to attention.
“Where are we?”
Deftly he turned off the engine. “This is where my father lives. We’re going to have breakfast with him.”
“Your father?” Her first thought was one of treachery. “I
believed
that song and dance about your not having any place to stay last night. Now, here we are at your father’s, no more than twenty minutes away.”
Undaunted, Drew answered her directly. “In the first place, his cabin is small, as you can see, and he snores like a lumberjack.” The twinkle in his eye at the last faded as he went on. “Secondly, we have had our differences over the years. I like to spend time with him—but as little as possible.”
Daran opened her mouth to argue, then closed it as quickly. Wasn’t it the same with her own parents? And why had Drew told her this? For what was not the first time, she suspected that he had revealed to her a part of him that most others never knew. Gracefully she accepted the hand that was offered as she climbed from the car. The scent of the pines and new-budding magnolias assailed her; the soft cushion of fallen pine needles covering the worn stone walkway muffled her high-heeled step as she walked beside the tall and handsome senator.
There was no cause to knock; the door opened even before they reached it. At its jamb stood a man of some seventy years, she imagined, not quite as tall as Drew yet stately of stance and distinguished of feature. The resemblance between the two was, indeed, more one of aura and mannerism than one of specific physical traits. The father’s face was fuller, and more ruddy than tanned. His eyes were narrow, his lips somewhat broad. He looked like a man who had enjoyed the fullness of life, but now chose, for some reason which escaped Daran, to live in seclusion.
“Andrew!” The older man greeted his son, the gravel edge of his voice covering the pleasure that his eyes registered when they took in first his son, then the young and extremely attractive woman by his side. “This
is
a surprise!” Whether the surprise was the appearance of Drew himself or his being accompanied by a woman, Daran couldn’t tell. As Drew made the introductions, she extended her arm to meet the preferred one.
“Governor Charles, how do you do?”
“Just fine, young woman. And what brings you up here with my very busy son so early this morning?” Was that a note of resignation? she wondered.
Drew came to the rescue. “We’ve come for breakfast, Dad. That is, if you don’t mind.” The subtly teasing note was met by a scowl of good-natured rebuke as the man stepped forward from the shadow of the doorway into the bright morning sun. Only then did the golden cast of his predominantly white shock of hair give Daran a flashback to earlier years, when his coloring must have been much as Drew’s was now.
As one still-strong arm of the older man settled across her shoulders and the other fell across those of his son, the force of the politician expressed itself fully. To Daran’s trained eye, he epitomized the back-slapping, baby-kissing, hand-shaking master who had, in his day, had his fill of all three, yet now, in retirement, could not totally shake the urge. Firmly he drew them into his home.
As rustic as was its appearance, its warmth was undeniable. The throngs of faces, celebrated and unknown alike, were in attendance here, hung for eternity on each and every wall. The furniture was worn, as was its owner, yet bore the same richness, the same stamp of high quality as that one who now led the way toward the small, compactly appointed kitchen, where bacon and eggs were on to fry before Daran could even offer to help.
Drew’s relaxation seemed genuine, observed through the intermittent surreptitious glances she cast his way during breakfast. For the most part, the two men exchanged news in what amounted to a sharing of high-level governmental gossip. The father was deeply interested in his son’s pet projects. Both men deftly included Daran in the discussion whenever possible and particularly when the issue of the Rights of Minors Act arose. From her standpoint, the interchange between the two was easy and free of the tension to which Drew had referred earlier. Daran found that her own excitement nearly matched that of both men, when Drew outlined the major bills with which the Senate would be dealing before the end of the session. It was a new experience for her to be included in such discussions; Bill had always been more secretive when it came to “men’s talk,” the real meat of the matter.
The first hint of strain came suddenly, the outcropping of a seemingly innocent—to her ears—statement by the former governor. “You know, Andrew,” he began slowly, using the full name which no one else seemed to use as often, “I had a call from the people at GCDC last week.” Drew’s jaw tightened instantly, yet he listened as his father went on. “They are very concerned about whether Washington is going to come through for them.” His eyes studied those of his son expectantly.
“Washington?” the latter prodded skeptically.
“Actually they’re counting on the junior senator from their own state.” It seemed almost an order; Daran’s attention snapped to the face of the older man in surprise, then flew to Drew’s in time to witness the chilling of his gray eyes as he spoke tautly.
“They shouldn’t.”
“Andrew, I’ve known Fredrick Bornwicke and his crowd for years. Is it so difficult for you, once in a while, to look to your constituency for guidance?”
Drew’s lips thinned. “I do look to my constituency whenever possible. In fact, I’m doing it on this issue.”
“That’s not what GCDC claims,” the older man retorted, his own voice growing harder with the continuation of the obvious disagreement. Daran could only sit and listen, totally ignorant of the issue they discussed. Drew’s next statement remedied that situation.
“For one thing, Dad, the Greater Connecticut Development Corporation is not the major constituency here. The people of Connecticut are. I was elected to represent them by a majority of them. And that’s precisely what I’m trying to do. In the second place, the building code which the Greater Connecticut Development Corporation—” he repeated the full name for emphasis, a habit she would later come to recognize as an often-used and effective one “—has submitted is obscene. Have you any idea of the number of downtown residents who would be displaced and left with no homes if this building goes ahead? Urban renewal is one thing; dispossession is another. With the inflationary spiral as paralyzing as it for those poor people now, the money which GCDC proposes to offer them will take them nowhere.” As he spoke, his voice grew more forceful. Instinctively Daran knew that his power was both inborn and well-defined. Now, though his tone lowered, the force remained. “And to think that GCDC has asked for federal funding!” Scornfully he looked away.
“I told Fred that I’d do whatever I could…” His father persisted, making his plea an almost personal one. It was this that seemed to aggravate Drew all the more.
“Well, you have, and that’s the end of it,” he growled.
“Not quite.” The governor was far from finished. “There’s still that matter of the money that Fred and GCDC contribute every year to your campaign chest…”
By this time Daran’s stomach was strangely queasy; desperately, she wished that the bacon and eggs she had devoured had been a single slice of dry toast instead. In the instant, she fully understood Drew’s hesitancy about spending the night under the same roof as his father. If this was a fair sample of their arguments, a deadlock was inevitable.
When Drew’s fist slammed down onto the heavy oak table, she jumped. “I don’t really give a damn about Fred Bornwicke and his corporation. And as far as what he can do with his money—” The blunt cut-off of his thought was in belated response to Daran’s recoil. A harsh gray gaze took in her pale face, then returned to the stubborn one of his father. “I’d like to show Daran the lake. If you’ll excuse us for a minute…” The older man seemed as pleased to be rid of his son at that moment as Drew was to have the excuse of an exit. His firm grip on Daran’s elbow drew her out the back door, down a narrow earth-covered path, and onto the moistly sandy shore of the private lake. Once there, he dropped her arm, seeming to withdraw into himself in the wake of the disagreement she had witnessed. The calming effect of the scene was well appreciated. As the gentle swell of the water lapped against the shore in soft syncopation, the spring breeze whispered through the branches high above. Slowly she relaxed, as did the tall figure at her side.
“I’m sorry you had to hear that … difference of opinion.” Evenness had returned to his voice as to the straight line of his lips.
Her response was spontaneous. “Why should you be sorry, Drew?” An unfathomable instinct to comfort sparked her thoughts into words. “I found the first part of the discussion to be fascinating. It was a privilege to have been included in it. As for the last, it’s not much different from the conversations I have—or
try
to have—each week with my own mother. Anyway—” she grinned “—it certainly justified your having spent the night at my house, rather than here.”
The light note fell flat before his sober cast. “It’s very frustrating,” he went on, oblivious to her words, “when I try, over and over again, to make a point. I based my campaign on the merits of my past record and my own character. I’ve tried never to make promises I knew I’d be unable to keep. And I’ve succeeded. Yet there is always this demand from one contributor or another…” With a sigh of resignation, his eyes fell from their study of the opposite shore to that of the upturned face beside him. “What do
you
think, Daran? Where should my loyalties lie?”
Simultaneously stunned by the question yet pleased that it had been asked, it took her a moment to gather her thoughts. “As a constituent, I would want my interests to be served by the person who supposedly represents me in Washington. As a contributor to a political campaign, I would want to see elected that person whose ideas I most respect. As a citizen of this country, though, I would hope and expect that each senator should ideally be allowed, once elected, to act out of reason and … conscience.”
As her pulse raced beneath the intensity of the gaze that pierced her being and shot to her soul, she wondered whether he would laugh at her idealism. But the smile that finally curved into a bright, white offering held no ridicule.
“With that kind of eloquence,
you
should be the one in Washington.” He spoke softly. “When will you be coming?”
How he had managed to shift the subject as abruptly to this one, which she had no desire to hash out again, she didn’t know. Now a dull edge was about all she could put on her response.
“I’m not.” Tearing her eyes from his in anticipation of the hypnotic effect he was sure to exert within minutes, she turned her attention to a pair of ducks that swam into view from the marshy area around the bend of the shore.
“Daran, I need you there.” His tactic was a new and powerful one. “I feel as strongly about the need for this legislation as you do. You are one of the leaders in the field, at this point. I know that we have our differences regarding the specifics, but that can be worked out, I’m sure.” Dumbfounded at the straight-talking, conciliatory effect of his words, she could only watch as he turned to stare out across the water, his mind miles farther away to the south. “You have to understand politics. Above everything else, it is the art of compromise. I am trying to formulate legislation which will be as strong as possible and still have a chance for passage. The opposition is staunch in some quarters.” He was silent for a while, pondering the job that awaited him when he returned to the nation’s hub later that very morning. Then, as though recalling her presence once more, he blinked as he addressed her personally again.